


Generations

by workmitch



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8441557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/workmitch/pseuds/workmitch
Summary: As the members of Overwatch are recalled, and new members invited, Reinhardt Wilhelm finds himself face-to-face with the daughter of a lost friend.





	

     Reinhardt took a deep breath of Gibraltar air. _It’s good to be home_ , he thought, a wide smile breaking across his face. The watchpoint hadn’t changed much in the years since Overwatch disbanded, but it was certainly roomier than before. Winston had maintained his lab and the main room, and Lena had carved a spot for herself among the clutter since she received the recall signal, yet Reinhardt couldn’t help but yearn for the old days when the full might of Overwatch was present and almost claustrophobic when brought together in one place.

     There wasn’t much left of the old days, though. Jack and Gabriel were gone, Ana before them, and Torbjörn had retired to Sweden in the aftermath of the dismantlement. He couldn’t bring himself to think of the losses they’d suffered even before that; it was just refreshing to be back, that’s where he wanted his focus. And soon, he hoped, more would be as well.

     “Enjoying the sunrise, old friend?” the gorilla asked from behind him. The old soldier turned to see the hulking scientist, always in his white armor, regarding his ally with a smile.

     Reinhardt laughed. “I hadn’t even noticed it was happening. Stuck in old memories, mostly.” He gestured for Winston to join him, then said, “It feels _right_ to be here again. Do you know how many more will be joining us?”

     Winston adjusted his glasses and thought for a moment. “Of the original Overwatch team, we were able to reach Lena, Angela, Torbjörn, McCree, and Genji. I’m not putting much stock in the latter coming, but Angela is already on her way and Torbjörn said he could be here by the end of the week.”

     “That’s barely a strike team,” Reinhardt observed. “Plans to expand?”

     Winston grunted. “As a matter of fact, I’ve reached out to a number of others I believe would be willing to join. Some have agreed to come to the base for an...orientation of sorts, and base their decision on how well that goes.”

     “Wonderful!” Reinhardt exclaimed, clapping the gorilla on the shoulder. “I’m always happy to have fresh blood around. Keeps me on my toes.”

     There was a sound like electricity bouncing in a tube, and suddenly Lena was on Winston’s left, then another _zip_ and she was on Reinhardt’s right. “What’re we talkin’ about, boys?”

     Reinhardt scooped the British woman in his arms and lifted her into the air, booming laughter pouring out of him. “Lena! It’s good to see you, my dear! Still as young as ever.”

     That was true. Lena Oxton had not aged in the years since Overwatch’s disbandment. The chronal stabilizer was still attached to her torso, even in her casual wear, and although Reinhardt had gone grayer and grayer at sixty-one, Lena looked like she’d stepped from the photograph of Winston’s inauguration into Overwatch.

     Lena laughed along with him, then reversed out of his arms and back to her place by Winston. “Rein! You big goof, still as energetic as the last time you were ’ere.”

     Winston sighed. “Lena, Fareeha will be here any minute. Is her room ready?”

     “Oh!” Lena squeaked. “Almost! I’m on it!” And she zipped away again, back to the main base.

     Winston removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “She’s incorrigible. And a bit much to handle on my own, if I can be honest with you. It’ll be nice to have some buffers when the others get here.”

     Reinhardt stretched, then felt at his biceps. When he wore his armor, it was easy to think himself invincible. Out of it, in a regular shirt and pants, he was grateful for the reminder of his limits; it kept him alive and more cautious than he used to be. “This Fareeha...”

     “Fareeha Amari, yes,” Winston said slowly. “She’s been busy. After she missed the original offer to join Overwatch, she joined the Egyptian military and led the mission to shut down the Anubis god program. Decorated soldier, call-sign Pharah, expertise in the use of the Raptora Mark VI armor, and–”

     “–Ana’s daughter,” Reinhardt quietly finished. “I know of her accomplishments. I’ve kept track of her since...” He swallowed once. “Well, I thought it was best if someone was keeping an eye on her. Put my mind at ease, to know how she was faring.”

     Winston looked away. “Her loss devastated us all, Reinhardt.”

     The German did not respond for a minute. He watched the sun climb higher, bathing Gibraltar in an orange light. “Do you think things would have ended differently had she been here? Jack and Gabriel respected her. We all did. I can’t help but wonder if her calming presence could have stopped those two from escalating their problems.”

     “I think their paths were headed to that confrontation from the moment Jack received command over Reyes,” Winston observed. “Not even Ana Amari’s famous death glare could have stopped them. In any case, it’s best not to dwell on what-ifs when we’re living with the aftermath of a certainty.”

     Reinhardt grunted, but could not respond before a loud roar engulfed the area as a ship landed at the far end of the base. “That’ll be Fareeha,” Winston said, loping away to greet the arrival. Reinhardt returned to the main building, where Lena was making breakfast.

     “Full English,” she joked, offering up a plate with toast, bacon, and eggs. “Mostly full, anyway. Any breakfast made by me counts as at least a third English.”

     He laughed and took the plate, thanking her for her consideration. As he sat down at the table, clearing a bit of the clutter for his food, he saw Fareeha Amari enter with Winston. In his shock he nearly dropped his fork, and he was certain his mouth had fallen open: the young woman was a near-perfect replica of her mother at that age, down to the Eye of Horus tattoo. The only difference he could see was that while Ana had always walked with a confidence and ease, her daughter looked very intimately aware of how much space she occupied, and torn between shrinking to a corner and standing defiant of expectations. Winston was talking, making introductions, “and this is Tracer, or Lena if you’d prefer. Angela Ziegler will be here tomorrow, and this of course is Reinhardt Wilhelm, who served with your mother on the original Overwatch Strike Team, as you no doubt remember.”

     Fareeha smiled at Reinhardt and moved to shake his hand. His easily fit around hers, but he was careful to keep the shake gentle. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Wilhelm.”

     “Please, Reinhardt,” he responded. “The daughter of a friend is family in my eyes. I remember when Ana would bring you to visit, when you barely reached my knee. Now you’re up to my chest.”

     “Reinhardt,” she said, trying the name. She let go of the shake first. “You know, I had a poster of you on my wall when I was younger.”

     The big man clapped and laughed. “I remember the poster! My hair was amazing.”

     She smiled, but it seemed reserved. Lena zapped up, holding another plate. “Care to join us for breakfast?” she asked.

     “No, thank you,” Fareeha said. “I’d like to see my room, get settled in, and then I’ll get some food on my own time. Pretend like I’m not even here today.” And Winston led her away, up the stairs and through the door leading to the living quarters. Reinhardt watched them go, thinking that Fareeha Amari was a completely different person than her mother, and how proud Ana would be of that fact.

* * *

 

     Over the next few days, Reinhardt noticed that Fareeha kept to herself. It was almost as though she was avoiding him in particular, never being in the same room unless Winston or Lena were there, and then Angela as well after she’d arrived. When Reinhardt entered the gym, the young Amari always seemed to be finishing. Their meals never overlapped, even if Fareeha had half her food left or had just entered the kitchen saying she was starving. He bided his time, knowing that she was putting off the inevitable conversation, and knowing that there was only so much stalling to be done. _She’ll seek me out when it gets to be too much_ , he postured.

     Sure enough, one morning as he was watching the sunrise, as had become his custom, Fareeha Amari climbed to the roof of the outdoor lab and sat next to him. “Good morning, Miss Amari,” Reinhardt said evenly.

     “I thought you said I was like family?” she countered, not harshly.

     He smiled. “That goes for how you speak about me. But I try to respect boundaries when I can, to off-set a bit of my noise.”

     She laughed, just under her breath. “Fareeha is fine, Reinhardt.”

     “Then good morning, Fareeha,” he said. “Lovely, isn’t it?” He gestured to the sun. “I am not as young as I used to be, and my one regret is not appreciating more beautiful things over the years. To think of how many moments like this I missed, trying to rush to the next objective.”

     “My mother always said that life was for the little moments.”

     “Your mother was a smart woman.”

     Fareeha sighed. “I barely knew her. The _real_ her, anyway.” She fiddled with the Velcro of her khaki pockets. “Is it wrong to be mad at her? She’s dead and I’m still angry, and then I feel guilty for being angry, and then I’m mad at her for making me feel guilty all over again.”

     Reinhardt placed a hand delicately over hers. “I don’t know if anyone really knew Ana. She kept a lot of things away from the world, as was her way. I’d like to think she and I were close enough that I knew more than the rest, but I’m certain there are things Jack knew that I didn’t, or even Gabriel for that matter.” Reinhardt sighed. “I’ve buried many friends. Too many. And if I’ve learned anything from that pain, it’s that everyone grieves differently, and differently for different losses.”

     Fareeha surprised him by leaning in and resting her head against his arm. “Am I wrong for being mad at her?”

     “Not at all,” he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. “I loved Ana dearly, but I was not blind to her faults, and death does not remove her mistakes. She should have been honest with you, and then truly listened to you and your desires.” He looked down at her, and saw a line of tears falling from her tattooed eye. “I know she loved you,” he said. “And in spite of everything, you were her entire world.”

     They were quiet together, sitting there as the day broke over Gibraltar. Next to Ana’s daughter, comforting her over their shared loss, was the closest Reinhardt had ever felt to paternal. “I still miss her,” Fareeha whispered.

     “As do I,” Reinhardt muttered, hugging the girl.

     “Will you tell me about her? What you remember?” Fareeha asked, and she sounded like she was seven again, shy and nervous.

     “Oh,” Reinhardt began, smiling, “the stories I have could take up an entire morning. We could share them over breakfast, if you’d like.”

     He stood and offered a hand to Fareeha, who took it and smiled. “That sounds nice.”


End file.
